


Out in the Open

by istia



Series: Rare Pairs [10]
Category: Strike Back
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, POV Samuel Wyatt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 00:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istia/pseuds/istia
Summary: Mac and Wyatt wind down together after the events of episode 701.





	Out in the Open

"Look, next time I ask you for a sitrep, don't fucking tell me you're 'good' if you're on the losing end of a goddamned ninja's fists and feet!" He breathed in slowly, closing his eyes and concentrating on the steady, staccato rhythm of Mac's footsteps behind him, back, forth, back.

The footsteps stopped, close enough he could feel Mac's stillness at his back, a whisper of presence. He did his best to relax his shoulders.

"Everything's fine." Mac's voice was what Wyatt's gran would've called _testy_. "I'm fine. You're fine. We're all sodding fine. What's the problem?"

Wyatt huffed a laugh and turned around. Stepping smoothly backwards a couple of feet, he leaned against the wall, the coolness of the tiles seeping through his shirt, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm just asking for a little honesty. Too much to ask?"

Mac tilted his head, giving him a sideways stare that held his eyes as a smile slowly turned the corners of Mac's mouth up. "Honesty, is it?"

"Simple honesty."

"Uh-huh." Mac straightened, lifting his arms over his head and twisting his torso slowly from one side to the other, groaning deep from his belly as he stretched his muscles.

His green T-shirt rode up his stomach, revealing the ripple of his abs. Wyatt's arms tensed across his chest till he forcibly made his own muscles relax. He dragged his eyes upwards to meet Mac's eyes crinkled in knowing amusement.

"Bastard." Wyatt laughed into Mac's merriment.

Mac's grin faded and he dropped into a chair. "Honesty. You don't ask for much, do you, mate?"

"I'm a simple man."

"Mmhmm." The air sizzled between them in the room where dust motes floated dreamlike in the sunlight flooding in the windows as their eyes held, heat rising in them hotter than the Malaysian sun. Mac took a step forward.

And another.

"How's this for honest, then?" Mac's hands were hard, smelling faintly of gun oil, as he pressed them against either side of Wyatt's face and dragged him forward into a kiss just this side of bruising.

Wyatt grabbed Mac's sweat-damp T-shirt, pushing it up out of the way to slide his hands over those enticing muscles, then closing his hands on Mac's sides and jerking him hard against him, chest against hard chest.

The kiss was searing, their hands flying over familiar contours, each knowing exactly the spots where a touch would inflame them both. He avoided the bruises he'd already visually mapped on Mac's torso, and rubbed his beard against Mac's neck, feeling the shiver that particular sensation always elicited from Mac. Moving as one fused being, they tumbled carefully onto the narrow cot in the wait room, arranging themselves with unconscious habit.

Adrenaline still singing in their blood, they fucked hard and fast, part of their acute focus tuned to listening for any sign of Coltrane returning, or even Novin, though she preferred to wind-down post-op away from HQ. Coltrane, though, was so far an unknown entity.

But they were used to doing it quick and hard, fisting each other's cocks, kissing bare flesh with teeth scraping, just shy of biting. Sweat dripped onto his cheek as Mac arched over him, then he flipped Mac onto his side and they faced each other as first Mac wrung Wyatt's climax from him, then his own hot seed added to the slickness under his fingers as he finished Mac off. They collapsed on their sides facing each other on the narrow bunk. Mac patted Wyatt's cock as he let go, but Wyatt held Mac's cock a few more seconds, thrilling as always to the feel of its shrinking to softness and tenderness, vulnerable, like Mac himself in the immediate aftermath.

For a few snatched moments, he held an unguarded Mac, pliant and defenseless, against himself. But only for moments. All too soon, tension returned to Mac's muscles and Wyatt knew it was time to let go of him, not to make it weird or possibly even mildly threatening; time to give Mac back to himself and his hard, necessary walls.

He was damned well chipping away at those walls, though. He'd come to terms recently, during their separation as Section 20 reorganized, with his main personal goal being to delicately build himself a door into Mac's secret walled garden.

Mac smiled at him as he rolled off the cot, energized, and headed for the shower. When he came out rubbing his hair dry with a towel, Wyatt stepped into the stall filled with steam scented with Mac's shampoo. He leaned both hands against the wall, letting the hot water course over his back, eyes closed, reveling in the plasticity of his muscles, the last of the adrenaline burned away in the most effective of all ways.

"So," he said a few minutes later, sitting on the bunk Mac had already neatly remade to tie his boots, "did you hear the latest scuttlebutt on our esteemed predecessors?"

Mac was at the computer, probably starting his report. Wyatt sat at his own computer.

"I don't listen to scuttlebutt." The smirk belied Mac's pious tone.

Wyatt grinned up at the ceiling, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. "Talk is they're motorbiking all over the Americas. Have been for months, pretty much nonstop since they finished up on our last mission. We _interrupted_ them on their great odyssey."

Scott and Stonebridge had left behind fucking big boots to fill in Section 20, but actually working _with_ the duo had taken away most of the sting from the inevitable comparisons the snider parts of command kept trotting out. Anyway, the three of them--he and Mac and Novin--had been recalled to duty finally, after the dust settled, so they were doing all right.

"Yeah?" Mac shrugged. "Guess they earned a good holiday."

Wyatt snorted. "They've been on this trip for months and months, Mac. Before they got recalled to help us out and all the time since then. Attached at the hip, is what I gather." He lowered his eyes to meet Mac's intense stare. "Scott's kid even joins them sometimes on his school vacations. Like an actual family trip."

Silence stretched between them, but Mac didn't break their stare. " _Attached at the hip_ is a stupid term. So they like each other's company--"

"Months and months and _months_. Alone on the road together. Just the two of them driving constantly off into the sunset."

Mac's snort of laughter cut him off and Wyatt glanced down.

"Yeah, well," he said, rolling his neck to ease the tension, "this job's a bitch. You get close or you get dead. Scott and Stonebridge survived a hell of a long time together. Maybe that bond they built up that kept them alive went somewhere deeper than just close colleagues."

Mac gave him a quizzical look. "So, what, you're bringing up the L word now?"

"I don't think that's quite what _The L Word_ means." When Mac just looked puzzled, he laughed. "Never mind. American TV."

Mac nodded, but stayed silent. Waiting. Mac had unexpected patience sometimes, startling in an often impatient man.

Wyatt took a deep breath, nerving himself to continue what he'd started. "I guess I am bringing up at least the possibility of the L word, at the other end of all this."

Mac's voice was disconcertingly gentle. "We're not Scott and Stonebridge, mate. Different people; different circumstances."

"Different people; _same circumstances_." He stretched and broke their stare. "I'm just saying, if we survive like they did, who knows what we'll become by the end?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "The transformative power of constant near-death experiences, eh? Could end up hating each other's guts. Ever thought of that?"

Wyatt half-shrugged, ready to pack it all in, darting his eyes away from Mac to the blank starkness of the walls.

Mac's voice gentled. "All right, I'll be honest, if that's what you want: It could happen. I can see how the job could maybe make us so used to looking to each other and leaning on each other and learning every little bleeding thing about each other that we go from quick fucks now-and-then to an entire lifetime of 'em, feelings more intense than anything we can find with anybody else."

Mac leaned forward, arms resting on his spread knees, hands loosely clasped. "But we'll have to wait and see, won't we? No predicting the future. Maybe we'll survive to bike around continents together, or maybe we won't. I reckon we're more likely to die together than get out of this gig with both of us intact."

Gooseflesh prickled on his skin, but he leaned forward, too, meeting Mac's intent eyes. "We're not fucking dying, Mac. Get that through your thick English skull. That'd just be admitting Scott and Stonebridge were better than us. Come on, you gotta admit you're way too bloody competitive to let that happen. Anything they can do, we can do better!"

Mac's smile was the warm, almost tender one he wore sometimes, for a few unguarded moments, after they'd fucked. "Oh, brilliant, we're back in nursery school, now, are we?" He shrugged lightly. "I always did fancy a big road bike. All that huge, hot engine throbbing and purring between your legs...." His voice trailed off as he slanted a sultry look up at Wyatt from under his lashes.

He knew his own smile was the goofy sweet one Mac in his tender moments startled out of him. "Continents out there just waiting to be explored. Can't let Scott and Stonebridge have the lot all to themselves, can we?"

Mac threw his hands up in capitulation, but his smile was all warmth. "All righty, then, we have a goal--and maybe even the L word at the end of it all, who knows."

"Something worth fighting for at last," he said sardonically, and smiled at Mac's barked laughter.


End file.
